


Maybe

by scottishtragedies



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Catra is sad :((, Distance, F/F, Gay, Heartbreak, Lesbian, Pining, catradora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 18:39:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottishtragedies/pseuds/scottishtragedies
Summary: Adora's ignoring Catra, and Catra can't handle it. Catra's POV





	Maybe

I always told myself I would never get my heart broken. I always told myself I’d never fall in love, too, so clearly I can’t keep my own promises. 

I’m sitting on the makeshift bed I had to set up in the hallway due to an ant infestation in my bedroom, three fleece blankets wrapping me up as though I’m fucking King Tut. I’m not King Tut, though. That’s probably obvious, but who knows. Maybe you’re an idiot. Maybe  _ I’m  _ an idiot for assuming you’re the idiot. Maybe we’re all idiots. 

I tug the blankets tighter around me. It’s warm under them, unbearable, almost, but it makes me feel slightly less lonely. Two hours ago I imagined myself in this exact position, though in my daydream the blankets were replaced by her. 

I’m lost in the daydream again. I imagine her being here instead of the blankets, her touch softer than any amount of freshly-cleaned fleece. She would pull me close, her arms reaching around my torso as she whispered some cheesy pick-up line into my ear. I would laugh. She would smile. I would feel her breath against my neck. I would grab her hands in mine, and we would nod gently off to sleep. We would be  _ together. _

It takes me a moment to shake back to reality, and when I do, I notice I’ve been crying. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice before, seeing as I’ve now got a massive dark splotch on my pillow that makes it look like someone’s took a piss. I don’t even bother wiping my face dry, because I know it’ll only be about half a second until tears are flowing down it once again. If she taught me anything, it’s that you should never dry your face off when you’re crying. She never specifically said that, though I’ve cried so much over her that she basically lectured me by extension. 

I don’t really understand love. I thought I did, about thirty-two minutes ago while she was texting me in the grocery store. I was so distracted by her presence I forgot what I had come in for, and ended up leaving with a massive bag of individually-wrapped Kit-Kats. I don’t even  _ like _ Kit-Kats. 

Catra of thirty-two minutes ago would’ve described love as Edvard Grieg’s  _ Morning Mood _ \-- a warm and comforting array of familiarity, calming, as though you’ve finally lifted some great weight off your shoulders. Catra of now would describe love as something along the lines of Edvard Grieg’s  _ In the Hall of the Mountain King _ \-- everything starts out fine, but anxiety is unconsciously rising and before you know it, there’s loud-ass crescendos everywhere and your girlfriend of seven years tells you she’s leaving you for some frilly little glitter-loving princess named Glimmer. Okay, maybe she didn’t tell you all that, exactly. Maybe she just hasn’t talked to you in days and you have nothing left to do but overthink everything and worry that she’s off having an affair even though that’s technically completely allowed since you weren’t even dating in the first place and now you’re crying because when she finally texted you after nine days, 13 hours, and 27 minutes, she left in less than thirty seconds, ending the conversation with, oh that’s right, not a word.  _ Maybe _ . 

I know it’s a little obsessive to be upset over someone not talking to you for a week, but I’m so used to waking up to her messages, exchanging memes throughout the day, calling her in the middle of the night just to flirt. Going a week without her words, her voice, her memes, makes me feel like I’m going through a meth withdrawl -- not that I’ve ever  _ gone _ through a meth withdrawl. 

I’m convinced she hates me. I know she’s been active online, I’ve seen her like posts on Instagram, and she’s got her read receipts on. I’m too much of a punk-ass to be upfront with her about it, though, so I’m just going to continue convincing myself that she doesn’t care about me and is much better off without me. Who knows. Maybe it’s true. 

My phone’s ringing. It’s across the hall and I don’t exactly feel like moving at the moment, or maybe my brain’s just telling me I feel lazy in order to cover up the fact that I  _ know _ that ringtone. Adora would laugh if she knew  _ I Want it That Way  _ by the Backstreet Boys played every single time she called, and that thought alone causes a smile to tug at my lips. I know I should answer it-- I’ve been complaining about her not talking to me all week, much to the annoyance of Scorpia, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. 

A ‘ding’ emits from my phone, telling me she’s followed up the failed call with a text. She’s filled me in over text, meaning I can read it later. If she’s going to ignore me for nine days, it’s clearly not that urgent. 

Now I’ve got  _ I Want it that Way _ stuck in my head. Thanks, Adora. I remember when that song first became ours -- we were sitting on her roof, the morning she was set to move away. We had stayed up all night, doing normal friend things-- watching shitty rom-coms, making out, picking fun at our annoying teachers. We were clearing out an entire carton of ice cream as the sun rose over the horizon, and from somewhere in the distance we could hear the  _ Backstreet Boys _ ’s most iconic beat. She started singing along, and soon I followed, high on lack of sleep and drunk on her. There’s not a single day when that moment doesn’t cross my mind. 

My phone dings again, and I begrudgingly crawl out of my blanket cocoon to check the notifications. I was right, as usual --  _ Adora-ble: 1 missed call,  _ and  _ Adora-ble: IMessage _ . I open her text, and a wave of disappointment crashes over me. ‘ _ Didn’t mean to call. Lol’ _ . I hope she knows that adding the ‘Lol’ to the end of that text doesn’t make the situation any better, and I actually contemplate about texting her that. Instead, I make the rash decision of chucking my phone across the hall, and it hits the wall with a loud crash. I’ll regret that later, but that’s  _ later _ . As for now, I fall slowly to the floor and clutch my face in my hands, my sharp nails piercing my forehead. I’m crying again, that kind of uncontrollable anger crying that makes your vision go fuzzy and your head flame. There’s a sharp, cold pain in my chest, and I finally know what heartbreak feels like. 

**Author's Note:**

> u cryin yet?


End file.
